A Doomed Effort at Reclassification
by equitablyinjust
Summary: Actually, maybe she couldn't have done a thing, because he'd been in love with his partner the entire time. And she was just collateral damage in a doomed effort at reclassification.


First off… i'm aware this is not my normal fandom. i'm also aware that the character study I'm doing is probably not hugely welcome right now, especially considering that, oddly enough, the most recent episode was my inspiration for this. That, and the rants i've been blathering at anyone patient enough to listen instead of ordering i shut up. i simply don't think Booth loved Hannah. i think he desperately wanted to.

i own neither BONES nor The World According to Garp, from which the title is taken.

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_A Doomed Effort at Reclassification_

It bothered her, when she really got to know him, and kept her up some nights long after he'd fallen asleep, listening to the strength of his breath and demanding herself questions she couldn't give an answer to. He wasn't the kind of man to begin a relationship with sex. No priest, he still had values. Sometimes, she accepted the simple answers. Spontaneity. War. Precognition. Some nights, though, when she'd sat at a table and never felt more isolated with the focus solely on her, she had to wonder. Wonder why those words didn't seem to fit, but she couldn't come up with any that did. A journalist, she'd become accustomed to her words fitting. Spoiled, really. And did she even know him, if his sides, like a misshapen polyhedron, didn't quite fit in place? Maybe. Maybe not. She let it go.

From the get-go, he'd told her he had a partner. Female. Highly intelligent, but a bit socially stunted. That, and he had a kid. Nine years old, and probably his favorite person in the world. Well, he didn't say that part. He didn't have to. That was what he talked about, at first, and she didn't push it. The kid. Maybe a bit of the war. Not much else. Truth be told, it made her a bit uncomfortable. Kids were… hard. You couldn't manipulate them. Charm them. Even changing their minds was a bit iffy. Relying only on their whims and first impressions terrified her.

But that was alright, really. He was a truly amazing man, gentle, and honorable, despite being one of the world's most proficient snipers. She could handle the existence of a child he so clearly treasured. Especially as… well, perhaps it was selfish, but the boy primarily lived with his mother. That eased some of her anxiety.

The partner, though… That was confusing. She didn't really like confusing. Maybe it was just journalistic instinct, but the story sounded better straight. One of the first things he told her was that he had a partner, and then… Nothing. It progressed to the point that she actually considered asking him – Did your partner die? Is that why you're here, and not with the FBI? But she knew better, and he'd tell her if he wanted to. So she stayed patient, and one day the partner just fell back into conversation, like she'd never been weirdly absent. Bones.

"That's not really her name."

"Huh?"

"Your partner. Bones. Even if she weren't a forensic anthropologist, no parent names their child Bones."

"Oh, yeah, didn't I tell you?"

"Nope. I don't think you call her anything else."

"Not really. It's Brennan. Temperance Brennan."

Temperance. Early 19th century, Benjamin Franklin, self-control, restraint. Interesting.

"I've heard of her. She's a novelist, right?"

"Yeah."

Temperance. And she didn't know; no one ever bothered to tell her, Bones didn't even like her name.

She'd only ever seen him in the desert, so it was the oddest thing, watching him across from the forensic anthropologist. He only seemed to talk about the cases, but he was so serious, so intent, with a force of habit that she'd never seen in him before. Six years of partnership. If she'd been the jealous kind, it might have bothered her, but she wasn't, and that was one of the wonderful things about her.

And he was so into her, it seemed, so it didn't quite matter that they didn't talk a whole lot. She sat by the window and made friends with Temperance and watched them talking. Animated, strange, intent. An interesting pair. Outside of together, she spent time with both of them, and it only registered in the back of her mind that around her they shifted. He became more physical, less loquacious, perhaps even more self-conscious. The anthropologist, in contrast, opened up, face and body language. So she didn't really see it, but the slightly feigned, awkward layers chafed the back of her mind until it bent, wildcat-pacing heavy.

Consciously, she didn't try to reassert her dominance. She rationalized it away, telling herself she was just playing, she'd never meant for his partner to actually _give_ her the sunglasses. Really, though, she hadn't. Perhaps some part of her wanted friction after that bullet she caught, desired a measure of proof that, oh, she didn't know. But Temperance didn't capitulate. Just smiled, a bit bemused, and handed them over. And she didn't really like that. Yes, it was sort of funny. But it also brewed discomfort, dealing with a breed as strange as a child.

At least he'd been a sort of success. With a little effort, he liked her. And so she put out of her mind his immediate desire to converse with the anthropologist, his pride in showing her off. They both did that, the Booths. Showed off the talents of Bones, and so she became friends with _Temperance_. Somehow, Bones seemed unassailable.

And then her confidence shattered and she had to piece it back together, very quickly. You know that saying about the mirror? The cracks were still there, but she ignored them. Because his partner had told him she loved him, and even if he'd come back to his apartment one afternoon and told her it happened, she saw unbalance in his eyes and the questions came back at night. Well, what did that mean?

He'd known all along she didn't want to marry.

She knew all along he did.

"I thought we would have more time before we got to this."

And she did. She really did. Eventually, it had to happen, she knew that, because he was sweet and well intentioned and not the kind of man who began a relationship with sex.

"Can we just go back?"

No, no of course they couldn't. But why not, she wondered. Why. Why was it so unfair. And she didn't even stop to realize it, but if she had, she might not have seen anyway. It was really unfair to him.

"I don't think we're done. But I guess we're done for now."

But somewhere in her, she knew it was. Over. Because he'd asked to marry her and she'd said no and he had to have known she would, so where was she, and maybe it all fit together but maybe she didn't like the picture. And so she walked away and cried.

And maybe he'd fallen into a relationship with her for all the wrong reasons. Maybe he'd been hurting, no. No maybe about it. He'd hurt a lot. And she couldn't do other than hurt him more. But he'd hurt, and he'd fallen in with her, and she thought he loved her. He wanted to love her. She loved him, because he was everything perfect, but he was the marrying kind. And he'd told her that he'd been rejected by his partner who still loved him and she'd caused him pain, they both had. And maybe he was just settling. Maybe he'd never loved her. But he'd asked her to marry him anyway, with all those maybes up in the air, and he had to know she'd say no. He had to.

It took her fifteen minutes to get all of her things together. Like she'd never really been meant to stay.

But walking away, letting the night swallow her lithe body like a bad dream, she had to wonder if she could have changed this fate. Because maybe part of it was her fault. But she hadn't been the one in denial. Actually, she'd seen it all, and her eyes were perhaps the most unbiased of the three, and maybe she couldn't have done a thing, because he'd been in love with his partner the entire time. And she was just collateral damage in a doomed effort at reclassification.


End file.
